


An Angel Who Did Not So Much Fall As Stumble Drunkenly

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drunk snek, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley shows up at the bookstore intoxicated, and Aziraphale has to deal with unexpected company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Angel Who Did Not So Much Fall As Stumble Drunkenly

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/125901715170/my-prompt-crowley-is-sleeping-off-a-drunk-at-the

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale yelled at the banging on the door.  He looked  
up at the clock–what sort of customer would be trying to buy books at  
this hour?  


  


As he walked downstairs he saw that the answer was, of course, not a customer at all–but a very tipsy demon, standing on the sidewalk and looking sadly in on the warm and bright bookshop, the streetlights casting strange shadows on his face in the otherwise darkness.

Crowley was so drunk he had forgotten how to miracle the door open.

“’ziraflail, ‘mdrunk,” was the first thing Crowley slurred as Aziraphale unlocked the door for him.

“I can see that,” said Aziraphale dryly, catching his arm as he stumbled inside.  Crowley had probably failed to make it back to his own flat on the zero gallons of petrol he had in the Bentley now that he was too drunk to perform miracles.  “Dear, did you walk all the way here?”

“Mmmmm,” said Crowley.  “Not walk.  Series of falls.”

Aziraphale covertly drained a bit of alcohol from his companion’s bloodstream.   They typically agreed not to “mess about” with each other, but Crowley was obviously too drunk to take much notice, and Aziraphale didn’t want to have to drag him along, which he clearly would have had to do if Crowley didn’t regain his sense of balance quickly.

They somehow managed to get up the stairs intact without divine intervention.  The bedroom that took up most of Aziraphale’s second floor was not often used–usually he offered it to some particularly weary soul who needed a place to sleep and a kind hand.

Aziraphale slapped the current weary soul onto the bed, and Crowley immediately curled into a fetal position and groaned.

“You can sleep here tonight, but you’ll be responsible for your own hangover in the morning.”

Crowley didn’t respond, and Aziraphale took it as a sign that he had already fallen asleep.  He noticed that Crowley’s neck and arms had begun to sprout scales, as if he were too drunk even to maintain a completely human form.

He gave the demon’s hair a light ruffle before turning the light off.

He turned around and smacked straight into something hard.

“Ooo,” said Aziraphale, clutching his nose.

“Aziraphale,” said a voice, definitely not Crowley’s, and alarm prickled at Aziraphale’s stomach.  He opened his eyes to see gleaming armor taking up his entire field of vision.

He stepped back.  It was the Archangel Gabriel.

“Oh, ah–ahh-hello!” he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking, and wondering if it were possible to shut the bedroom door without Gabriel noticing.

Gabriel gave him a stony look.  “Is something wrong, Aziraphale?  You seem disturbed.  Were you not ready to receive me?”

Aziraphale bit back the rude comment that appeared on his tongue, remembering his New Year’s resolution.  “Apologies–you just took me by surprise, that’s all.  Would you like a cup of tea?”

He didn’t realize how ridiculous the question was until after he had said it: Gabriel was in full battle armor and had a stormy look on his face.  Very few angels appreciated a good cup of tea.  God, angels who spent most of their time in Heaven* were so….impolite.

* * *

*This was most of them.  It was, in fact, all of them, except for Aziraphale, but that didn’t stop him from grouping them all together anyway.

* * *

“No,” said Gabriel.  “I just need to touch bases with you before I am dispatched onto my mission.”

“Erm, right,” said Aziraphale, trying not to look back at the bedroom.

He had been hoping that Gabriel would move into a more comfortable place to talk than standing at the top of the stairs in front of the bedroom, but angels who spent most of their time in Heaven** really had no sense of “comfort” or “proper” or “why don’t we discuss this over a cup of tea sitting down and away from the bedroom,” so they stayed exactly where they were.

* * *

**Again, all of them.

* * *

“No one has said anything about-”

They both froze at a sound from the bedroom–a low moaning hiss.

“What was that?” said Gabriel.

“Nothing,” said Aziraphale, horrified to hear his voice pitching upwards.  “It’s an old building, sir, the boards sometimes creak as they settle.”

Gabriel gave him a suspicious look before continuing, “No one has mentioned your actions during the–ah–attempted apocalypse, but be aware that the matter is not yet closed.”

“Yes, yes, very well,” said Aziraphale, trying to get a glimpse of Crowley without turning his head.

“In regards to the quota we had set for you last year, Aziraphale, we are troubled to notice that you have not yet reached it.  This is the third year in a row.”

He came here in battle armor to talk about that bloody _quota_?  That was _such_ a Gabriel thing to do.***

* * *

***It was in fact such a Gabriel thing to do.  Gabriel had come down in battle armor to appear before the Virgin Mary, and the phrase “quota” had in fact appeared in his speech, although it had been wisely edited out of all but the very earliest versions of the Gospel.  Aziraphale was mostly concerned because one of Gabriel’s quotas was a demon-smiting quota.

* * *

“Apologies, sir,” said Aziraphale.  “This year, I’m on track to-”

There was another sound from the bedroom.  Gabriel tried to peer over Aziraphale.  The Principality stood on tiptoe to stay in the Archangel’s focus and plastered a nervous smile on his face.  “Erm, the building is _very_ old–it’s infested with mice.”

“Mice, you say?” said Gabriel, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Yes, mice and–and bats as well.  There’s all sorts of terrible creatures scurrying around in here, they make all sorts of noises-”

“It does not sound like anything like that.  Aziraphale, are you hiding something?”  


_ZZZZSNK!_ came the sound from behind him, and Aziraphale exploded with, “Spiders!  We have a huge infestation of spiders!  They’re hissing spiders–very rare and exotic–endangered, actually.”

Aziraphale put his hand on the door frame as Gabriel tried to step past him.  “Badgers!” said Aziraphale.  “Tunneling through the walls.  They make all sorts of strange noises-”

“Aziraphale-”

“Let’s talk about the quota, shall we, and how I failed miserably to meet it?  Aren’t you going to–give me a good lecture?  I need one!”

Gabriel pushed Aziraphale’s arm out of the way, and the stuttering Principality could only watch as Gabriel flipped the light on.

There was a thick black snake sitting on the bed, curled up into a ball with its nose tucked into its coils.

Gabriel looked at it, then turned towards Aziraphale.  “Somehow I think you have other things to worry about besides mice.”

Aziraphale feigned surprise.  “Oh, dear, snakes, now _that_ is a new one, apologies sir, I’ll catch this and put it outside if you don’t mind, it won’t take a minute…”  Working up all the fake indignation and disgust he could muster, he caught Crowley and shuffled downstairs with him, the serpent fighting to disentangle himself from sleep to form a proper response to being kicked out.  He was rudely thrown into a cardboard box by the dumpster, with only a hastily muttered apology to go in with him.

It was another half an hour before Gabriel finally left, and Aziraphale had definitely met his quota of listening to nattering Archangels for the year.  When the coast was clear, he found Crowley exactly where he had left him, the serpent sulking intensely, but apparently still too drunk to remember to be angry as he was put back to bed.  



End file.
